


exchanges

by thir13enth



Series: shiro.exe [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, re: clone theory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 08:41:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12361893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thir13enth/pseuds/thir13enth
Summary: no returns, no refunds.—shallura.slightly nsfw. clone theory.





	exchanges

**Author's Note:**

> "but your brother was a good substitute for you." - kiiara, gold.

The moment she first saw him, she knew he wasn’t the same.

He looked exactly like Shiro – hair a little long, body a little wasted, story a little messy – but he wasn’t Shiro nevertheless.

She couldn’t explain it for the longest time. She wasn’t sure if her eyes, ears, and hands were lying to her or if her heart was just second-guessing the fact that he returned in case this was really just all a dream. But her gut feeling knew something about him had changed, and she couldn’t put the words to it.

She didn’t want to think about it – the possibilities of what could have happened or who he could have really been. She knows these are the thoughts that keep her sleepless and unfocused, just like the ones that kept her up all night pacing when he was first gone – the possibilities of what could have happened or where he could have been.

And just when she began to accept that she would no longer be able to be together with him, just when she got to settle into the Blue Lion and adjusted the seat, just when she started to stop missing his warmth on the other side of her bed, _he_ returned.

This is a test, she tells herself. _He_ isn’t Shiro, and _he_ isn’t going to replace him.

It wouldn’t be right, after all – to tell him she loves him in the same way she loved Shiro, to kiss him in the same way she kissed Shiro, to need him in the same way she needed Shiro.

It’s not right.

But every time his eyes meet hers, she’s betrayed by how her chest flutters and she’s betrayed by the inevitable logic that he technically _is_ exactly the same. It’s no longer just about her heart against her head, no longer just the irrationalities against the rationalities – they’re one and the same, and they’re telling her that she loves him because he _is_ Shiro.

And every time his lips meet hers, she’s surprised by how incredibly warm and firm they are – just as she remembers Shiro’s kisses and just as she craves them to be – but there’s a voice in the back of her head that reminds her that these _are_ Shiro’s lips, this _is_ Shiro’s kiss, and that no, she’s not imagining it for one second because he _is_ Shiro.

From his dark brown eyes to his charming smile, he is Shiro. From how his hair falls after a good night’s sleep to the sharp turn of the scar over his right thigh, he is Shiro. From the nightmares that wake up him at two in the morning to the strong embraces he gives to the Voltron team, he is Shiro. From the way he says her name, so light, so gentle on his tongue when he speaks to her, and the way he breathes out, so light, so gentle over the crook of her neck when he’s on top of her – he is Shiro.

And why should that surprise her?

He’s built to be Shiro. He’s made to be Shiro. And he _is_ Shiro.

It’s not right, and it never was right.

But the rights and the wrongs, and the goods and the bads, and the blacks and the whites just melt away when she misses him so much she can’t breathe and when she can no longer see the rationale for keeping him away when he is exactly who she misses and exactly who she wants.

So tonight, she doesn’t end their conversation with a good night and a wave down the hallway as he returns to his quarters to rest. She doesn’t look away when he asks her what’s wrong. She doesn’t lie when he asks her if there’s anything he can do to make her feel better.

Tonight, she wraps her arms around him and pulls him in.

He kisses her – in the same way he always has ever since the night she told him she could no longer see herself without him, the same night he replied he never wanted to leave her side.

He kisses her – maybe a little more urgent, a little more rushed. After all, he’s been patiently waiting for her to acknowledge him ever since the night he returned to the castle-ship, long after she mourned his death in pink.

Everything after that is nothing less than the same. He still tucks her bangs behind her ears after he lays her down onto the bed, and he still traces his fingers along her collarbones before he unbuttons the rest of her blouse, and he still moans with a small growl when her hand slips below his waistline.

Everything is the same, and if she closed her eyes and shut off her mind, there is no difference.

“I missed you so much,” he suddenly murmurs into her neck, between quick kisses and captured lips.

And there’s a second where she panics upon realizing the cool air on her bare breasts, his warm weight on top of her hips, how far his kisses have gotten, how her heart skips several beats when he casts wanting eyes on her. But she quickly remembers that this is what it feels like to be loved, and her worry dissipates. Her chest is so tight with excitement, so full of anticipation that it quickly occupies the empty cavity worn out from his long absence and her aching heart.

It feels like she’s healing, and like she’s whole again. It feels like he can fix her, and like he can put her broken parts back together.

“I love you,” he says – soft like he always has, honest as he’s always been.

And the words come from his lips so true that it feels like he really _is_ who she loves, even if just for this moment, and so she replies.

“I love you, too.”


End file.
